


Bridgerton

by pergamond



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Gen, RPG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28732611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pergamond/pseuds/pergamond
Summary: Yukimura finds a screenplay Atobe has been writing (crossover with the period drama, 'Bridgerton').  Character background is (mildly) based on the RPG 'Lioncrest' in which Yukimura and Atobe both attended a school for wealthy scions and Sanada was Yukimura's butler (and love interest).Extract:“Tell me, Keigo,” asked Yukimura Seiichi. “Do you consider yourself the Duke of Hastings or the Lady Whistledown?”
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	Bridgerton

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crazy_marik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazy_marik/gifts).



“Atobe-sama, you have a guest.” The butler bowed politely as the scion paused in the entrance hall of the family estate to allow himself to be relieved of his outer garments by the flurry of staff that greeted his return. “I have placed him in the morning room.”

Atobe inclined his head in understanding, pulling his hands free of grey leather gloves that were then casually tossed onto one of the hall side tables. “Fresh tea,” he instructed. “Hot.”

Stepping into the indoor shoes that had been placed before his feet, Atobe strode past the sweeping staircase to double glass doors that led to one of the mansion’s drawing rooms. The morning room was so called for its east-facing windows that overlooked the grounds. Even in the bleakness of the Tokyo winter, splashes of colour could be seen in the persimmon trees that hung heavy with fruit over the kitchen garden wall. The furniture was upholstered with complementary floral designs and—despite claims of a visitor—was entirely unoccupied. 

Atobe’s eyes briefly swept upwards on the off-chance that Kikumaru had arrived and been mistaken for a real guest, but both ceiling and light fittings were pleasingly intact. Sharp eyes swept out over the empty lawns before returning to the room and the door slightly ajar at the far end. 

The fact his guest had not conformed to the minimals of polite custom and remained where he was placed informed Atobe of their identity.

Moving a shade more swiftly that was normal, Atobe crossed the room and entered the adjoining study. The room was dominated by large desk and perched on its left corner facing the windows was a young man, seemingly engrossed in the sheaves of a manuscript. 

“A screenplay, Atobe?” The visitor did not raise his head as he spoke but continued to study the pages before him. “You are full of surprises.”

Atobe took a step forward, contemplating ripping the papers from the other man’s hands. But such a display of emotion would hardly assist in a situation that was clearly far too late to prevent. Instead he leant against the doorframe and folded his arms. “You also appear to have no notion of even basic manners,” he replied. “Although I admit to that to being rather less of a surprise.”

The curve of a smile could be seen between the curls of dark blue hair as a page was turned and its reverse side considered. “Tell me, Keigo,” asked Yukimura Seiichi. “Do you consider yourself the Duke of Hastings or the Lady Whistledown?”

With an effort, Atobe straightened and walked across the room to join his guest. He and Yukimura had attended the same school for the ridiculously wealthy, left under unspecified scandal that Atobe attributed principally to Yukimura’s over familiarity with his butler, professed continual contempt for one another’s existence and frequently adorned each other’s drawing rooms. 

“I believe it is considered that all characters are a reflection of the author,” Atobe replied, turning his back on Yukimura to sit on the opposite desk corner and retrieving a few of the discarded pages. 

“That would explain Daphne,” came the preoccupied reply. 

“Flawless and incomparable.”

“Conflating happiness with gaining what she cannot have.” 

Atobe twisted to face Yukimura’s curved profile. “An understandable error when what she cannot have persistently invades her space.”

Violet eyes met his as his companion also turned, laying the papers down between them. “Is that how you see me, Keigo? A Simon Basset to your Daphne Bridgerton? I had no idea you pictured me quite so…” that violet gaze dropped to the page before them which described the Duke of Hastings’ dishevelled appearance in lavish detail. “…unclothed.”

Atobe graced this with a razor thin smile. “Consider that overdone artistic license.” His eyes slid to the pages Yukimura had just put down, noting a flurry of strikethroughs in red pen. “You modified my work.”

Yukimura straightened and slid off the desk, walking back to the door that led through to the morning room. “Small changes to minor characters. Nothing major, I do promise.”

Atobe picked up the paper, scanning the contents and the proposed edits. “You changed the Queen’s lines,” he called after Yukimura’s retreating back. “She now apparently loves her husband…” he frowned, cross checking between the acts. “…while still repeatedly asking if he is dead.”

“Mmm hmm.” There was a soft clink as Yukimura lifted the tea tray placed in the morning room by staff who had evidently been told never to disturb events in their master’s study. Ignoring this invisible barrier once again, he brought steaming pot and cups to a clear part of the desk. 

“You also elevated Siena,” Atobe noted, turning over another page over in disgust. “I had made her a gutter cleaner, not an opera singer.”

Yukimura filled two cups from the tea pot and lifted his own to his lips before blowing gentle across the hot liquid. “She captured the heart of nobleman, Keigo. A gutter cleaner would not have been believable.” 

“You say this, but experience rather suggests otherwise.”

Yukimura’s free hand swept lightly outwards, coming within a hair’s breadth of the filled cup and pot on the desk next to the manuscript. In a single movement, Atobe swept the papers out of the threat of harm.

“A butler’s rank is not so lowly, Atobe.”

Without bothering to offer a response, Atobe walked around to the front of the desk to slide open the top drawer and lay the manuscript inside. The same location—he could not help but recall—that he had left the work before vacating the house that morning. 

Picking up the second tea cup, he walked to the window and gazed at the view over the frost bitten lawn. Behind him, there was a small chink sound as Yukimura put down his cup. 

“Did you like it?” Atobe did not turn around. “The script?”

He could almost hear Yukimura smile. He did hear him pad quietly across the carpet to stand just behind him. 

“A story in which you split each of your tragic fantasies into a cast that results in quite a disturbing number of actors?” he asked, brushing close enough to reenact Simon and Daphne in their relative positions during almost every scene of the series. “And force them to not only showcase their inadequacies as human beings on the only stage where it would actually matter during that historical period, but relive the entire experience in a cheap newsletter over breakfast the next morning?” He paused, leaning back against Atobe for a moment before stepping in front him and forcing their eyes to meet. “Why Keigo… I’m going to be your set designer.”


End file.
